CRY OF THE HUNTED

Some things just never change! It’s probably a proverb worthy of reflection that old habits die hard. From a layman’s point of view to the rocket scientist’s interpretation, some element of undisputed truth dwells in there. There exists a silent line in the broad scheme of things. A defining boundary beyond which self subtly and definitively translates to divine, almost with a tone of finality…fatally so. In tension filled successive sweeping waves characteristic of the self destruct, moments tick by. As sure as the sunset, it is only a matter of time! Always.

It’s an ecstatic realm in which restraint exists not, where virtue finds herself a wandering alien, wisdom a diminutive clown in the domineering dual face of consuming self-will and hilarious intrigue of the choleric. Keeping word and breaking it means the same thing under the patience repugnant and conscience numbing fuel of self that informs this sphere where law and order is subject to personal interpretation. Self is above it all in a thoroughly misguided cause by finite to subdue infinite to knee.

An intense concoction of optimism and caution embraced the returning fugitive in equal measure as he gently strummed his guitar one more time in the captivating rhythm of his favorite song of all. He pondered over events of the past few days as the drama unfolded. There was no explaining how he had found himself at the Centre of it all. He felt like one wielding great magnetism for controversy. If it were up to him, there would have been no way of allowing himself to be here. And how he desperately wished that were the case.

But then it wasn’t  He found himself in a relentlessly action packed web orchestrated by forces way beyond his comprehension not to mention control. He was constantly conscious of a sustained heated tag of war between two invisible counter forces over him…a scramble for his destiny. The good and the bad, with ugly ripple effect often than not. He seemed like one walking in a landmine tagged course, an endangered species desperately trying to understand what was happening behind the curtains…better still the prize tag that had set him on the trail for the hunted. He could only hope his confidant and kindred was right in his judgment of a renaissance. He had to admit the script was beginning to take a toll on him.

Every endangered species understands the risk of getting too comfortable. The warning sensors have to be on an all time high, because you just never know! Just never know! As the spear whizzed over his head in a blazing flare, his senses were rattled back to the grim reality of this fact. It was time to hit the road, true to his assumed status as a fugitive. He casually rubbed his temple where the weapon’s tip had miraculously missed by a whisker. He was grateful his miracle bag had not yet run out of content. He was like one  on a trance as he hurriedly rose to his feet appalled, with the giant blade violently shaking in the wall, in a choleric emphatic signature of “I can!” He managed a fleeting glimpse of the blood-shot eyes in the rocking chair highlighting an elaborate collage of rage, betrayal and deception from forehead to chin. Indeed some old habits never die, for as long as the roots remain untouched, prospects of renaissance present wishful thinking …a temporal fix at best.

There are times to run and times to flee. As the fugitive unleashed a combination of both in a concerted effort to get to the fort, the airwaves were saturated with urgent signals as he was branded enemy of state. An all out call to arrest on sight from the nation’s highest office came to effect with immediate effect. Vigilant Intelligence sources were swift to trace his hideout at the fort.

***

The seasoned General watched the drained fugitive, now the most wanted man in the Nation with eyes full of compassion as he narrated his ordeal. He was in a pensive mood as he vividly recalled his own experience.

“My experience was almost your exact opposite-that was many years ago. In essence it was one and the same thing. In parameters though some differences stand out . Times have changed, quite evidently. Transitions! They are seldom uneventful.” He spoke in a slow firm tone.

“Transitions?!”

“This is what it’s really all about. I can almost read you the entire script.”

“Script?! Do you realize I’m at the verge of my final rites?”

“I think I do. Now that’s a huge army against an unarmed fort, don’t you think? Some real attraction for trouble you wield young man! Do you enjoy break dance?”

“What?!”

As he was talking, what sounded like a choir began singing in the adjoining hall. Men’s choir. They sung of the Trail that would effectively confound the antagonist, till the end of time. The fugitive struggled to comprehend what was happening, instantly inspired by the tune. His spirit sunk as suddenly as it had risen as he came face to face with a spine chilling scenario unfolding outside the room. He did not need anyone to explain to him what the mission for the heavily armed massive army was. The General was a few strides ahead of him in a calm demeanor. He contemplated surrendering himself.

Just then the most dramatic scene of his life played before him as one by one, the military  personnel dropped their weapons and broke into break dance before the choir. The General was now playing lead soloist. He sung of parting seas, crushing barriers and told of a thousand and ten thousand trounced, at the side of the Trail. “For he is before all things!”  The animated dancing troupe was doing an amazing job. The fugitive watched with a wide open mouth. He wanted to believe it was a dream at first but knew too well it wasn’t  He began laughing uncontrollably. He was so lost in laughter he did not even notice as a strong back up contingent of special operations forces arrived at the scene and followed suit. The plot was thickening!

“What do you mean head stands? Who gave permission for such gross misconduct? Are you all so starved of entertainment? I said kill that fugitive or bring him to me. What part of that instruction is not in English? Someone get my party ready. I will have to do this myself. Then you will all pay for entertaining that crafty fugitive with head stands!”

Flanked by his top security brass, the commander-in-chief set out for the hunt, clad in full military gear. Word got to the fort of an imminent annihilation as the Nation’s Head of State narrowed in with a clenched mighty fist. Traumatic memories flashed through the fugitive’s mind as the spear wielding towering figure approached the door way. The General approached him cautiously and stretched out his hand in greeting.

“He was expecting you for the dance of all time!”

“What are you talking about?”He barked impatiently brushing off the outstretched hand.

“Alpha the Majestic; Before all things!” Replied the General,composed.

“ You’ve got to be out of your mmm…”

Without a prompt, he stuck his spear to the ground and began break dancing, his team in suit. The hall was a flurry of activity as the unusual guests showcased their very best before the choir in phenomenal oscillations. The fugitive along some choir members burst in laughter as the president made a startling head stand in a frenzy, half-dressed. No one saw that come for it was public knowledge he could not move a leg! What a day! It had not always stood out as easy to comprehend. To be the hunter or hunted could vary from time to time. Now the fugitive saw the defining factor all so clearly; that not every objective was executable, yet it seemed he could indeed do all things, through him before all things, for he makes the difference.

©The Blazing Trail 2012

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